Dirty Tricks

Kye

FIVE WEEKS EARLIER

Chelsey slams the door of her apartment and turns to me, her blue eyes blaring in the low light from the lamp on the side table. Take off your clothes.

I raise one eyebrow. I’ve had the hots for this girl for at least four years, and she thinks that she can tell me what to do? Hell fucking no. I take two steps toward her, closing the distance between us. No, babe. That isn’t how we do this.

She shakes her head, her giggle a little drunken. No, it is. We take off our clothes and then we fuck. And then you fuck off. She giggles again.

At least we’re agreed on that point.

Then why, I whisper into her ear, ghosting my lips across her cheek, are you still dressed?

She shoves me away and bends forward. She grabs the hem of her dress and pulls it up her body, over her head. It flies across the room and lands on the arm of the sofa. I’m not.

The words have barely left her lips when she grabs the front of my shirt and yanks me toward her, hesitating for a second before kissing me. She tastes like the cranberry vodka she’s been drinking all night, and the kiss is a useless distraction from her attempt to remove my shirt.

I break the kiss, tug off my shirt, then with my eyes burning into her, I wrap my hands around the back of her neck and pull her into me. She melts under the force of my mouth, her nails digging into my arms as I push her back against the door.

My cock strains against my zipper, begging me to set it free. She gasps as it pushes against her lower stomach. Hell, I gasp, too. She feels so soft compared to me. Her skin is so smooth, and when I’m done with her, every inch of it will be slicked with sweat.

She nips my lower lip and grins. I swing her around and yank her across the spacious apartment to where I assume her bedroom is. She guides me toward the right door and reaches behind her to open it, keeping her eyes on me. She’s surprisingly focused, and when she runs her tongue along her lower lip, there’s no more time for playing.

I throw her onto her bed and kiss her feverishly. I guess this is what happens when you’ve lusted after a chick for a long fucking time and finally get her under you in nothing but lacy black underwear.

Underwear that’s about to be gone.

I kiss, lick, and nip my way down her body, exploring the curvature of her neck with my tongue, teasing her nipples with my lips, until my mouth is level with the waistband of her panties. She gasps as I remove them, sliding them down her long, smooth legs and dropping them to the floor.

Her lips part in a gasp as mine make contact with her wet pussy. She writhes beneath me as my tongue explores the heart of her. Her hands scratch at the bedding, grabbing desperately, her moans getting louder and louder as I edge her closer and closer to orgasm.

Fuck, those little moans are driving me insane. I’ve looked at her so many damn times and wondered how she’d sound with her body at my mercy. So many times I’ve wanted to hear the sweet yet desperate cries fall from between those lips because of me.

I’m certain she’s on the brink of her pleasure when she abruptly jerks away from me and slides down the bed. Her fingers are at my pants and undoing the fly before I’ve had a chance to comprehend what’s happening.

I can’t hold in my sigh of relief as she frees my cock from the restraint of my clothing.

I sigh even fucking harder when she closes her sweet mouth around it and sucks.

My hands go to her head as she swivels her tongue around the tip of my cock. Fuck, if I’d known this was how my night would end when I approached her in the bar, all brooding and angry, I wouldn’t have spent half an hour weighing the pros and cons. If I knew a blow job was guaranteed, I’d have gone to her sooner.

Not that I have a single fucking clue why she was pissed off, mind you. Just figured she needed some cheering up. So here I am. Cheering her up while she sucks my cock like a little champ.

Her hand wraps around the base, and I close my eyes as pleasure weaves its way through my body. My dick throbs in her mouth, and I let her continue until every muscle is tight and I can’t take it anymore.

I pull her mouth away and reach into my pocket for a condom. Once I’ve got it from my wallet, I roll it on, kick my pants off all the way, and push Chelsey back up the bed. I knee open her legs as she moans finally and position myself against her wet pussy.

I look into her eyes as I push into her.

She’s so fucking tight and wet, and I know this: the way it feels to be hugged by her is like nothing I’ve ever felt.

And as I pound into her with my jaw tight and she grabs at me as her back arches, I know this is the kind of fuck that’ll haunt my dreams.

Chelsey

Johnny, I swear to God, I don’t give a shit if you’re shipping off to the Middle East or to your nana’s backyard, you make one more comment about my tits and I’m going to shove your beer bottle so far up your ass you’re gonna be shitting it out next week.

The black-haired marine holds his hands up and laughs. Now, Chels, you know me, darlin’.

I give him a pointed look and pause while wiping off the glass. "Exactly. Now y’all take your beers and behave."

Like Johnny Evans and Co. could ever behave themselves. I’m almost certain that he deliberately screws around when he’s on leave to make up for how disciplined he has to be in his job.

Behave . . . Leila Burke muses, taking a seat on the stool just in front of me. I glance up, and her eyes flit from Johnny to me. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.

I hold my hands up to signal my agreement, then reach for a wineglass. Yeah, I know. But if he’s a prick later, I can remind everyone that I warned him.

"If he’s a prick? She raises a dark eyebrow. When he’s a prick. The guy gives Tate a run for his money."

Now it’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. Leila, no one gives Tate a run for his money. Not even your other brothers. I pour her a glass of wine and set it in front of her.

Yeah, I don’t know. Right now, Mom might be winning. She seems to be struggling with the fact that her last baby is looking for a place to live that isn’t his current bedroom.

Her last baby? Did she forget you?

Apparently, she says dryly. When I left, Mom had Kye cornered and was touting all the perks of living at home. Including home-cooked meals nightly, getting his laundry done, and not having to worry about all the bills. I think she’s trying to scare him into staying.

Even though Conner can live with Sofie, Ella and Tate can buy their cute little beachside house, and Aidan and Jessie can pretend they’re not living together in the house he’s making an offer on?

And I can spend three months in Europe. Alone.

I bite down on my bottom lip in a fight to hide my smile. And I know exactly what happened in Europe. . . . What’s your Dad saying?

As long as Kye doesn’t knock someone up, he couldn’t give a crap. According to him, Mila is enough baby Burke for a while.

I see his logic. You didn’t bring Kye with you, did you? I glance at the door.

Leila’s smile is slow and sly. No. . . . Should I have?

No, I burst out. Wait. No. That sounded desperate. No, I repeat, much calmer this time. I grab the cleaning spray from under the bar and squirt the shiny wooden surface. Why would you bring him?

I don’t know, Chelsey. Why would I?

I don’t need to look at her to know she’s basically silently peeing herself with laughter. She’s the only person I can’t beat into submission over this whole thing. Sofie, Ella, Jessie. . . . None of them will talk about him to me, but as soon as Leila enters the room. . . . Boom. There’s no living that night down.

Because you’re a sadistic bitch and you take pleasure in my uncomfortableness around him?

You missed a spot, she says with glee. Oh, not on the bar, she adds when I drop my eyes, You missed the extremeness of my pleasure.

I roll my eyes and briefly consider throwing the wet cloth at her face. Just for my own amusement. One-night stands aren’t a crime.

I know. I had a very fun one with a hot Italian waiter.

And the Spanish tour guide, I remind her. And the English singer . . .

You make it sound like I whored my way around Europe. She sniffs, lifting her wineglass. I went to four countries and slept with only one guy in each. It was a total bucket-list item.

Oh yeah. There was also the French artist who she suspected was actually a taxi driver.

Whatever. I choose to drop the cloth back where it belongs in the sink. I’m just sayin’ it’s awkward to talk about it.

Chels, you fucked my brother. It’s awkward even when we don’t talk about it.

I sigh heavily. I’m not going to tell her that the reason it’s awkward isn’t just because I slept with Kye, but because of the way the whole thing went down. Like, seriously. I don’t plan on sharing with everyone I know that the night he and I did the horizontal tango, I was on a mission to get totally wasted because my father had just informed me he’d knocked up his twenty-six-year-old groupie girlfriend. His girlfriend who happens to be eighteen months older than me. And he wonders why I have so little respect for him.

Long story short, I was already well on my way to my goal when Kye turned up and distracted me. I wish I could say that was the worst part about it, but I’m a really forgetful drunk. I can have three glasses of wine and be hazy the next morning. So . . .

Holy shit. It’s embarrassing to even admit to myself.

The whole me-and-Kye-bumping-uglies thing is awkward because, well, I can’t totally, completely remember it all. The only thing I have full recollection of is the fact that Kye Burke can lick pussy like a champ. I’m assuming he can probably fuck like one, too, but my vagina and brain are conspiring to withhold this information from me right now.

Earth to Chelsey? Leila bangs on the bar. You have a customer.

I blink harshly and escape from my own head, then turn to the woman watching me expectantly. Sorry, I spaced out there for a moment. What can I get you?

Are you still serving food?

I glance at my watch. If you order in the next thirty minutes we are.

Perfect. She lays the menu down and proceeds to reel off a food order. I write it down, nodding, and she also gives me her drink order. A few minutes later, her drinks are in her hands and I’ve taken her order to the kitchen.

You know, Leila says, shoving her empty glass toward me. It’s always bugged me how the media never picked up on who you were.

I shudder at the thought. Since I had to spend my senior year of high school on the road after my mom died, my face is familiar to most national media outlets and all the local ones. Sometimes a non-story about me buying coffee or something will pop up, even now, especially when I look a mess. They never admitted that it wasn’t Aidan cheating on Jessie when they ran that article. At least I don’t think they did.

Something I’m kinda thankful for.

I don’t think Marc knew it was you, Leila responds, referring to Dirty B.’s ex-manager as she takes back her now-full glass. If he did, he would have played off your dad’s name until there was a nationwide ink shortage.

I shudder again—except this time it’s worse. Don’t even joke. I’ve had a shitstorm of calls ever since he announced the baby he’s having with that whore. I don’t even know how these idiots got my number.

Well, for one, your number is on your Facebook page.

My head whips around at the sound of his warm, husky voice. The laughter laced through his words sends an involuntary shiver cascading its way down my spine. I pause before I respond, my eyes flitting across his face.

Scruffy dark hair like he just got out of bed. Baby blue eyes glimmering with amusement. Curved pink lips, set just above a chiseled jaw that’s lightly dusted with two days’ worth of stubble.

He looks like he just walked straight off a magazine cover.

My stomach flips.

"My old number is on my Facebook, I correct him. I reach for my glass of lemonade and knock it over. Somehow I manage to catch the glass before it hits the floor, but lemonade spills everywhere. Shit!"

Leila snorts, and her brother chuckles. The sound of a stool scraping against the tiled floor tells me he’s fixing to stay, and I can’t avoid him like I have for the past month. It’s surprisingly easy to stay out of someone’s way in this town, even with how small it is. Mostly because you know they’re coming to find you before they’ve left their house, thanks to the Shelton Bay Gossip Grapevine.

Obviously, Leila was in charge of this run-in.

I put the mop back in the corner and take a deep breath to steady myself before I approach them again. Ignoring Leila’s eyes on me, I look at him. Can I get you a drink?

Kye Burke meets my eyes and studies me for a second that feels like a lifetime. I lick my lips and his gaze drops for a second. Dr Pepper, he answers, bringing his eyes back up again. That’s her second, and she can’t drive now, he explains, nodding toward Leila. Lucky for her, I walked down here.

Not planned, Leila deadpans, lifting her glass and finishing it. But, hell. I’ll have another if he’s offering.

I roll my eyes and grab her glass. Once I’ve filled it, I pull down a pint glass and, at Kye’s nod, fill it with Dr Pepper.

He hands me his card. Her tab, too.

Leila shrugs like the baby sister she is, so I run the transaction through and hand him the receipt to sign. He scribbles on the line, and I shove it into the register without a second thought.

You know, most chicks are thrilled when I give them my autograph.

And most girls don’t realize that rock stars are all arrogant bastards. I smile sweetly.

His autograph my ass. Every business owner and bartender in Shelton Bay knows the Burke boys have two ways of signing their name—one is their actual signature, and the other is all fancy for their rabid little fangirls.

And the cell number on your Facebook is your current one, he shoots back, holding the screen of his phone in my direction.

I frown and grab it out of his hand, focusing in on the details. Fuck. He’s right. How the hell did that happen? I’d swear I haven’t updated that for months. Crap, I mutter, handing the phone back to him. His fingers touch mine with a warm brush as he takes it.

Internet, Leila snorts. Log in once and it knows your life story.

Kye raises an eyebrow and looks at her. After your walk of shame through Europe, you should make a point to avoid it.

Look, just because I got laid more than you . . .

He turns his attention back to me. You can refuse to serve her, right?

I can, but I’m not gonna lie, I wanna see where she’s going with this. I lean forward and rest my forearms on the bar. Lei?

She winks. Kye, just because I got laid more than you while I was away doesn’t mean I’m ashamed. Maybe I should write about it. I could see doing a book, actually. Young Southern girl travels to Europe and meets sexy European men, then proceeds to get brains screwed out of—

Please refuse to serve her, Kye interrupts. I’m gonna have a fuckin’ aneurysm if I have to listen to more of this shit.

Leila sits up straight, clearly affronted. What, because I’m a girl, I can’t sleep with people and not care? If I were you, I’d be celebrated for it. Hell, all y’all have been celebrated for it just because you have a cock. If I had one, you’d be high-fiving me.

I purse my lips and slide my eyes to Kye. She has a point.

Sis, you can sleep with who you want. But the idea of some asshole having, ugh, sex with my little sister makes me want to chase him down and rip his balls off.

My gaze travels back to Leila. Good answer.

So? Maybe I’ve wanted to slice the nipples off every chick you’ve ever slept with. She looks at me. No offense, Chels.

My cheeks burn.

But I’ve never called you on it, Leila continues.

Actually, Kye responds, you have. A lot. You called me on it after . . . well, Chels.

That’s because she’s my friend.

You didn’t call Aidan on Jessie.

Maybe I like Chels more.

When did I become the focal point of your fight? I raise my eyebrows. Can you take me out of it, please? I’d rather my private life not be common knowledge in town. Because, you know, some of us value our privacy.

That and we’ve managed to keep our little . . . encounter . . . relatively private for a month. Which is unheard of in Shelton Bay.

I don’t have the words to express how much I’d like to keep it that way. Private. Secret. Unheard of except by his family and my best friend. Who is, oddly, probably closer to being my family than my actual family at this point.

The hottest rock star of the eighties and nineties, Lukas Young, is my father. Everyone expected me to be someone. To do something amazing.

I work in a bar in small-town South Carolina. I’m a simple girl with simple dreams. I just happen to have a complicated past. . . . One I’d prefer to stay there.

If it were to become common knowledge that I had my way with Kye Burke one night . . . It doesn’t bear thinking about. I’d be pushed to . . .

Well.

Do things I don’t want to do. Like . . . be in the public eye. Maybe even follow in my father’s footsteps and sing. God only knows there’s been enough speculation over what my future would hold, especially since I was thrust into his limelight several years ago.

Chelsey?

I snap out of yet another trance at the sound of my coworker’s voice, Clarissa. If she’s here, my shift is over. Sorry. What?

You can go, she says slowly, her eyes dancing between me and the two Burke siblings sitting at the bar. Both of their glasses are empty.

You need a ride? Kye asks, pushing his stool back but not getting up.

Nah, I’m good. It isn’t raining or snowing. I can walk.

It’s freezing out there, Clarissa offers. Icy as hell.

I’m good, I reassure her, tugging my shirt down self-consciously. I glance at Leila. She’s grinning, but it’s a knowing, shit-eating, determined grin. The kind of smile that only a best friend can get away with.

Instead of reacting to it, I shake my head, take my register drawer, and disappear into the back room. I sit and count it out carefully, record it, then put the cash in the safe. My coat and scarf are hanging on the peg with my purse where I left them when I arrived, and I wrap up warmly, pulling my gloves from my purse before stepping back out into the bar. Shelton Bay rarely gets snow, but the temperature drops low enough over the winter that you definitely notice it. If it weren’t for the lack-of-snow thing, I’d wonder if the whole town was teleported to the Northeast every winter. Usually you can at least forgo the scarf by late February, but this year the sea breeze is bitingly cold, and leaving the scarf at home is a mere dream.

I wave to Clarissa and adjust my scarf so it covers my chin. My purse slips down from my shoulder as I push open the thick wooden door to the bar. The cold air hits me with what seems like a punch, and I wince at its ferocity.

So. It really is cold.

Get in the truck, a voice murmurs, oddly strong.

I’m fine, I tell Kye, opening my purse and pulling out my gloves.

Come on, Chels, he groans. Leila forgot how to handle her wine and is already asleep.

She’s still jet-lagged, I say in her defense.

Whatever. I don’t give a shit. It’s freezing and it’s pitch-black out here. Just get in and let me take you home.

I sigh and finally look at him. As our eyes meet, flashes of our night together play through my mind. No, really. I’m okay. This is Shelton Bay, not the South Bronx. I can walk home by myself. Besides, I live on the other side of town from you.

Kye looks at me flatly. Don’t make me drag you into my truck, woman.

I’d like to see you try. I yank the gloves over my wrists and turn away. The streetlight illuminates my path, but I’ve taken all of five steps before a hand grabs the back of my coat and drags me backward.

A quiet shriek leaves me, especially as I turn and collide with a solid wall of coat and man.

Get. In. The. Fuckin’. Truck, he growls, pulling me close to him. My heart thuds. It’s cold and dark, and I don’t feel right about you walking across town by yourself.

I’m a big girl—

Trust me, babe, I remember well just how fuckin’ grown up you are. Now, two choices: get in the damn truck, or I throw you in it. Are you gonna come quietly or no?

Asshole.

I inhale deeply, purse my lips, and meet his eyes in the dim light emanating from the bar’s neon-illuminated front window. If you think I’m gonna come quietly, you don’t remember a thing, do you?

He smiles sexily. It’s so fucking lazy, and I kind of want to rip it off his face. There’s nothing quiet about you, Chels. Although if you’re up for a challenge . . .

Take me home, I demand. Preferably before you drop your sister off.

I shove his arm off me and stalk to his sleek, charcoal-colored truck. The engine is purring lightly, and Leila’s face is pressed against a window in the back. Her jaw has dropped, and I’m pretty sure the smear on the glass is from her drool. Adorable.

My fingers itch for all of a second before I pull out my phone and snap a pic of Sleeping Beauty.

Kye laughs quietly as he opens the driver’s-side door and gets in. I shrug as I hoist myself into the giant vehicle, making sure to tuck my phone back into my purse before closing the door. On second thought, maybe I should keep it in my hand. . . . I all but curl into